Crimson to the Yale Bowl
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: Bravo Team survives the ambush at Forogh Curative Hospital...barely. My take on what I would have liked to have seen during this episode of 'Credible Threat'.


Crimson to the Yale Bowl

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Bravo Team survives the ambush at Forogh Curative Hospital….barely. My take on what I would have liked to have seen during this episode of 'Credible Threat'.

* * *

Sonny scowled at the politicians seated across from him and noted with some degree of satisfaction the abject fear on their faces. Smug comments; arrogant declarations; that peacock strut they displayed so convincingly earlier in the day was now lost; buried under the knowledge that today could have been their last day on earth.

What a freak'n mess.

This had all gone sideways from the minute they started this security detail. A babysitting job turned deadly. The terror, the needless loss of life – all of it could have been avoided. This was not what he was in this country to do.

Swiping sweat from his brow; he attempted to keep his game face from morphing into rage.

What a bunch of pricks – he thought inwardly; but went about the task of checking over the suit in front of him for injury anyway. The hummer hit a rut in the road and had them all bouncing about like rag dolls. Catching him off guard, Sonny's forward momentum had him leaning snugly into Congressman Alper's personal space – forcing an uncomfortable eye gaze between them. Alper's face burned a self-consciously beet red as he pulled back to avoid his penetrating look of distaste.

Where was all that bravado now he wondered?

Next to him, he could hear Clay asking over the roar of the engine, "Are you hurt anywhere?", as he pet down Secretary Reed, his voice scratchy from screaming above gun fire back in the courtyard. The kid looked a bit clammy and green, but he supposed if he could get a good look at himself, he would see the same.

They had been lucky to make it out of that fiasco alive.

Leaning back and away, Sonny reclined, reared back and banged his head on the side wall of the hummer; once, twice, three times – then closed his eyes to calm his nerves. Behind the darkness of closed lids, a flashback of rapid gun fire spitting up dirt; brick and mortar falling from a nearby explosion; doctors and nurses running for cover – some lying sightless on the courtyard's unforgiving concrete assailed him.

He pressed fingers down on his lids to blot out the memory, but it only served to make the recollection worse and that much more vivid.

Among the spots and swirls of color, there was Clay…laying across the prone form of the Secretary; yelling, "From the roof!" – His weapon pointing up. General Hakan, a mere few feet away; among the dead…covered in blood – his security detail surprisingly missing in action. He, grabbing hold of Alper and pushing that annoying assistant back toward the hospital; with Jason yelling over the fray, "What are you still doing here?" as he disappeared to chase after the sniper.

Sighing, Sonny opened his eyes and with exasperation exclaimed, "Shit", with some relief.

Over the com he listened for the voices of his team…Zero-one; Boss; the others, Bravo two; Bravo four; Bravo five – all counting down and looked to his left to see six staring back at him. Sonny let his breath go then inhaled in through his nose slow and easy; his heart thumping loud in his ears.

They had made it – kept safe; and kept it tight.

His urge to reach out and strangle the three men seated in the hummer with he and Clay was overwhelming. His palms itched to grab hold; but in his ear he could hear Zero-one's direct order. "Bravo three, get the delegation back to base…..safely; and to the hospital. We'll meet you there."

His slight hesitation of "copy that", was met by worried looks from not only the frightened men, but Clay as well.

"Check them again", he growled to Clay and called out to Full Metal up in the driver's seat, "Get us to the base man….move it"; and hit the hummer ceiling with his fist to give it emphasis; knowing he sounded more irritated than commanding.

"They look good Sonny" Clay reported, sitting back on the bench seat with some effort, as the hummer moved fast through the streets of downtown Jalalabad – horn blaring for pedestrians to get out of the way, Full Metal screaming at the top of his lungs for citizens to , "Move it, Move it, Move it!"

Screeching wheels and the back and forth swaying made him feel nauseous. Swallowing down bile, Clay squeezed his eyes shut to stave off the uneasy sense of vertigo.

"If everyone is okay, then whose blood is this?" Sonny wanted to know, reaching out to touch the stain of sticky red on Reed's suit jacket. Studying the red on his fingers up close, he could tell that this was recent; bright and wet. Someone on this transport was injured.

Looking surprised, Secretary Reed stared down at his jacket. "It's not from me" he frowned, and then gazed over across to the young solider whose breathing seemed off to him – short and shallow. "Son, are you alright?" he inquired, leaning over with concern for the young man – a boy really, who had risked everything to save his life back in that deadly courtyard.

Hearing sincerity in the man's voice, Sonny gave his full attention to the kid – really looked at him. Clay's face appeared wan, pale and void of color. His lips were a little blue; partially open breathing in fast and shallow. "What's wrong?" he demanded and moved closer.

"Nothing" Clay reassured, "I just need to catch my breath."

Sonny went to work then, checking the pulse at Clay's neck – the beat there rapid and quick. He then moved to check out his arms, beneath the vest, his back his sides. Sonny's search ended when he felt the wet, sensation at the kid's ribcage and felt his heart sink down into his belly.

Pulling his hand away from Clay's side, and finding it covered with blood; a pool of it on the seat next to them, made him curse. "The hell Spenser" he whispered with force. "Why didn't you say something?"

Clay frowned with consternation and looked down too; perplexed at the revelation that it was his blood on Sonny's hand, on the seat, covering the side of his shirt; spilling down over his belt onto his pants leg.

Looking to the Congressman, the Secretary – even the assistant, Edward; he could see that everyone was concerned, maybe even afraid for him. He laughed at the irony.

"What is so goddam funny" Sonny admonished – reaching to place his hands over the wound to provide pressure and attempt to stem the flowing blood seeping freely between his fingers.

"I don't feel a thing" Clay murmured, then sensed Secretary Reed move in close to help slide him down in order to lay on the bench seat and sink heedless down into unconsciousness.

* * *

When next he was aware, Clay found himself on a gurney, laid out on his side. He felt disconnected from his body – floaty and out of sync. The slight tug and pull on his side, gave him pause.

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered was being in the hummer – glad to be alive; glad the delegation was safe; glad Sonny was next to him, and that the others were accounted for.

Frowning, he moved to turn and swipe at the annoying tug and pull sensation along his ribcage. But before he could gather his strength, and make his move; someone grabbed his arm to hold it still; and ruffled his hair in soothing circles.

A breath of air tickled his ear, and Boss' voice urged, "Be still" and he obeyed. His mission to scratch that annoying itch all but aborted.

"You're in the ER – thirty stitches for you" Boss continued; his heavy hand firm and steady on his arm; keeping him in place; and the other warm atop his head.

"You were shot dumb ass" Sonny deadpanned as he appeared right in his line of sight, causing him to blink – a wicked grin on his face that belied the worry in his eyes. Clay could see the anxiety – so smiled back.

"Lucky for you it was just a crease" Trent added from somewhere in the room – his voice bouncing off the walls.

"Albeit a looooong, deep crease!" Brock intoned; with Cerberus barking out loud and clear wanting her two cents worth to be heard.

The tugging at his side subsided briefly, and a voice he didn't recognize yelled out, "For the last time, would you please get that dog out of here!"

"Will do Doc" Brock answered with good humor, and moved toward the door. Clay could just make out him leaving with Cerberus trailing behind; her whimper yanking at his heart strings.

"It's okay girl" he whispered as the door closed softly behind them. And just as he decided to close his eyes and let himself just drift, he noticed Ray leaning nearby against the wall, his arms crossed - an unreadable expression on his face.

* * *

Clay was concerned.

Ray was eerily quiet, reticent; so un Ray like – that it sort of unnerved him. And the hovering wasn't like him at all.

Usually it was Ray who looked out for everyone; counseled good common sense; consoled grief; and advised caution. It seemed to him that Ray needed all of this and more. Clay wasn't sure how to take that.

The others had left a while ago; after giving him a hard time about Secretary Reed's visit to see how he was doing. He remembered smiling throughout the short visit; his mind muddled with pain medication; his cheeks burning with embarrassment; and hands clammy with sweat. He honestly didn't know what to say, or how to react to the man's gratitude.

He was only doing what he was trained to do.

But it seemed that Secretary Reed didn't want him to say anything. Instead they shook hands and thankfully the brief meeting was over. Boss gratefully kicked everyone out after that. The ribbing was merciless; and he had no comebacks to offer.

Only Ray stayed behind – with little if nothing to say. He just sat in the chair by his bed either staring down at his hands or at him. Finally Clay lost control of his body, succumbed to a heavy sense of weariness and let himself go – turning his head away from Ray's worrisome behavior and dropped down into sleep.

* * *

"I'm sorry. I just feel as though somehow this is my fault."

Those sorrowful words broke through Clay's troubled sleep as General Hakan fell at his feet; hat askew, unseeing eyes wide open in a confused state of disbelief, as screaming people raced for cover that didn't exist.

Turning on his side and blinking rapidly away the sting of imaginary debris and shifting dirt, Clay….through tears of sleep woke to Ray's pronouncement and didn't understand. Had he said those words of apology – or was it just a part of his dream; a confused cacophony of disjointed memories.

"How so?" he croaked out, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision. Only to see Ray startle a bit; wince, reach for his shoulder and look to the ceiling as if to find some answer there. Clay wondered the why of this reaction, and thought maybe he had missed some part of Ray's speech while asleep….so tried again.

"What makes you think this was your fault? You weren't even there?"

When he got no response, Clay moved to sit up and address his friend. Yes…his friend; who never let a teachable moment slip by; who gave his advice freely; who wore his compassion for others without apology; who taught him that being truthful was a duty, not only to himself but to the team as well.

The dread and uncertainty embedded in Ray's body language, and on his face frightened him. "What is it?" he asked and winced as the pull of stitches had him groaning with pain and panting with exertion.

And in that moment, just as Ray turned to speak; to share his burden – his face sad and serious…Bravo Team burst through the door, boisterous; loud – filled up with unbridled energy. Leading the way Boss rushed in, holding out a bag for him to take. "Get dressed Spenser", he bellowed over the noise. "We're breaking you out of here!"

Taking the bag of clothes, Clay couldn't help but smile. He was ready to leave here and get back to his own quarters; and his own space. He could only sleep soundly with Sonny's snoring below him on the bottom bunk; Cerberus' nocturnal roaming and Razor's talisman hanging above his head.

When he turned back to consider Ray, surprisingly he was himself again…steady, strong – a mask of confidence in place of the distress and worry he thought he had witnessed; and so dismissed his concerns as imaginings…remnants of his nightmare. Everything was okay. Ray could handle anything…couldn't he?

This had been a rough day, not just for him; but for everyone.

"We'll talk later?" Clay prompted, and watched as Ray stood to squeeze his shoulder with assurance.

"I'm okay kid", he quickly smiled. "No worries here. Let's just get you out of here."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. I'm looking forward to the next episode of SEAL Team. I want to see how the writers address Ray's secret!

Also I would like to take a moment to say "Thank You" to everyone for your comments on my last story 'That's What We Do". The amount of support for that story was heartwarming. Your reviews meant a great deal; and I read them over and over!


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